Fallen
by Godshatter
Summary: Deathfic: A nameless warrior's last farewell


Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing… nor will I ever  
  
Fallen  
  
By: Godshatter  
  
  
  
  
  
Rain. I sit here, rain awash all over me, chilled to the bone and under the dimmed light of an ancient corner post. I do not feel. I am not alive. When I look into the mirror the eyes that stare back are empty, there isn't even the cloudiness of my old inner struggles. My back against the cold metal, my skin crawls from the frigged contact. Did I say I didn't feel? Well, that's not true… I don't feel what most people feel. The only "feel" there is for me is pain, suffering, ad infinitum.  
  
I'm burnt out, used up. You kill enough people, endure enough pain and push yourself beyond any normal physical limits it eventually catches up with you. Whoever said that you could never run away from your problems obviously wasn't running fast enough.  
  
Slumped up against this light post, looking up I can see the rain as it falls to the ground, the silver streaks like a thousand miniature shooting stars, as they rush, needlelike to the ground. The soft glowing yellow from the light is there also, it sits up there like another sun, wispy pieces of smoke boil off its hot surface. It is fading though, and the night sky with the rain seems to be slipping away. The top and bottom is falling out of my view, now I can't see anything but two slitted regions of white, more like a hazy gray. There is a rushing in my ears, like the pounding of a thousand rocket engines, deafening, it drowns out everything but the rain. Strange, the roar sounds like rain.  
  
I can't feel the light post, I can barely feel the rain as it pours down onto my head and shoulders, and washes down my arms and side. Looking down at the pavement I can just make out a stream of red flowing into the street, and mixing with the rainwater. The roaring is gone now, and everything is quiet. This buzz in my brain is slipping and I feel as though I am teetering on the edge of a dark pool. I lose my balance and plunge headlong into its unthinking depths.  
  
* * *  
  
Wind, rain, cold, nothing, air, flowers, nothing…  
  
Absence. Black. White. Fade in. Fade black. Fade white. Flashes. Lightning, pain, thunderstruck. I am everywhere and everywhen.  
  
Looking out at a dimly lit street, hazy in the downpour of the cold rains, a young man walks, all the while gripping winds trail down the road after him, and try to take hold of his jacket.  
  
The night is cold, and soft starlight penetrates the densely clouded overcast skies, black against the gleaming sparkles of streaming water. Sheets of rain come roaring down, impacting the pavement of the dirty streets with the sounds of a locomotive, a sound thick like molasses, it hangs in the air and saturates the mind, and the ears.  
  
The shadowed figure walks on, down the slicked streets, past the window shops and adrenaline sidewalks of the city. Down a quiet suburbia road it trails, wraithlike into the night, a long flowing overcoat floating in the winds. Rain pelts the figure and it pauses under the warming glow cast by a steaming lamplight on a lonely street corner.  
  
Lightning shatters the air and throws light into the world, exploding white, it dazzles the world for but a moment, and dies… its curtain call but the briefest of recollections in the mind. In that instant the lightning showered the street corner with light, a blackened face loomed into my field of view, hazy lines distorted the face, and a swirling void encompassed the center of the head. (I remember not the last time in which I gazed back at myself in a mirror).  
  
The lightning flares die in the distance, and the rain begins to slacken, as the night once again resumes its tranquil and sedative state the figure, (man, I suppose I should call it now), once again resumes his tireless journey, but he pauses.  
  
A flash if silver, and the glint of cold steel, "Don't move, I don't want no trouble. Just give me your wallet buddy and we'll call it a day."  
  
The man turned around, and as his dead eyes gazed back into those of the would-be thief, they seemed to scream. The man lunged, and a shot rang out, bouncing from the ground and echoing off the sky.  
  
* * *  
  
I don't know how long I lay there under the light post. I remember hearing footfalls eventually. Before that, all there was, was white. Then came the thunder, no… not thunder: footsteps.  
  
Again I feel the rain, I can barely feel anything and the only thing I can see is two cracks of light against black, and even this seems far, far away. Hidden behind the mists in my brain I can vaguely make out that I am moving, where I don't know. The sensation is painful, like someone jilting me along. I can't control anything, my arms feel like the deadweight of ten thousand pounds, and my neck has slumped off to an odd angle. All of this is assimilated, rather than derived from coherent thought. I know that I am alive and am somehow being moved, that is all, no logics, nothing, just the rain and feel of being roughly carried. This, again, is not known through coherent thought, it is simply assimilated understanding.  
  
Obviously, I am too heavy for whoever is trying to carry me, so I slip out of their arms and fall sprawled out onto the slick pavement. I feel the readjustment of my back as my head is lifted, and placed atop something heated, like a lap. Something warm sweeps delicately across my face, stopping briefly at my lips, and moving on, it brushes droplets of water from my lashes.  
  
Warmth runs through my hair, fingers perhaps. My name is whispered and I realize the rain has stopped, the warmth continues to play about through my hair, but now there is a new warmth, and it lays softly on my check and neck. I think that I am laying against someone's shoulder.  
  
Something very soft brushes against me, it feels like a warm ocean breeze to my numbing face. I concentrate on the breeze and it seems to flow back and forth against me. Hair. Hair that smells of flowers and jasmine. A woman's hair. Featherlike, it continues to swish across me. I know I recognize that scent from before. I have held it close to me, protected it. A face comes to mind, but the fog of my memory mars its features and I can no longer remember who it belonged to.  
  
There is a fuzzy feeling circling around my waist, something hot to my frozen flesh. Fingers brush my bangs and there is a hot breath against my check and neck, then a trembling. The trembling gets worse and worse, then I realize the trembling isn't mine. Soft droplets of water, warm like tears, fall against my furrowed brow, they role down my check and pool on my lips. Something delicate, almost velvet like, brushes across the line traced by the water. The touch is soft, loving.  
  
The slits of light in my vision clear slightly, and I look down to see a whitened blouse stained red, like some surreal mural. My vision blurs and I slump out of the woman's arms.  
  
Again the cuddling sensation, being pressed against the warmth of her shoulder, strands of hair lightly brushing against my face, occasionally meeting my lips. Her tears continued to stream down my face, as they made their way down across my chin to plop into puddles of the newly started rain, where they joined with my blood as it swirled into the streets.  
  
Cold, everything is so cold. Not even the warmth of her caress as it mused through my bangs could bring feeling to me. She started trembling now, or maybe it was me, I'm not sure anymore. Feeling begins to leave my body and I can barely make out the slight tickle of her tears as they stream down her face only to fall onto me. 


End file.
